Desire
by Adventuresomely
Summary: Nobody could understand - I can't even understand all the time.


Desires and forbidden temptations are embedded deep within each of us, spurring our thoughts, causing us to act out in ways we normally wouldn't, and even driving us to go against our deepest set morals. We're too weak to fight against it. Against our will, against our beliefs, against the very foundation that makes up our entire beings – temptations never cease. The only ones who are momentarily spared this conflict of morals versus desires are those of infants and young children, who have yet to learn of sin or feel the longing desires that come with age.

Unfortunately, that purity of mind without relenting nightmares and conflicts at every corner is something that is fleeting in much the same manner as the seasons.

There are those girls in town – Nana and Alle, especially – they like to talk about what a cute and pure little boy I am and how one of them will marry me some day. That's what Richie says to me when we meet up sometimes. We've all grown older and they're finally starting to show their interests – their desires toward me, to make me their possession and nothing more. Richie says, too, that they often fight over who will get my affection in the near future. It's funny to think of, because I don't care for either of them at all.

Girls are strange creatures – They talk a lot, almost too much. They don't ever shut up for a minute to think about what they're saying – that mostly goes for Nana, though. I don't ever voice my opinion around anyone; it goes unheard either way, and when it doesn't, it starts a fight. So I let them go on with their desires; their strange teenage fantasies about what they want in bed, what they want later in life, and what they'll never have from me so long as I have an ounce of strength in my body.

And I have my own desires, too. That's why I don't want Nana or Alle, or even Richie. None of them are the center of my focus or the object of my desires – and I don't voice this, either. I can't. Aside from talking too much, girls are nosy too. If they want information, they have clever and manipulative ways of getting it; usually through passive aggression and guilt tripping until I crack. I've cracked before under their scrutiny, so I don't tell anyone and keep it all inside. I can't trust anyone to these thoughts except myself.

So I write everything down, to cope with the conflicting morals I feel in tune with my desires. I write and I write, and sometimes I tear out a particularly graphic page just in case my journal was ever found. God forbid that ever happen, else I would have to leave home and never come back for fear of how everyone saw me. Not everyone is so understanding and forgiving – the rules are set out plainly in the village and I go against them through my thoughts.

The girls are growing up now, and they're developing like every other girl does – most notably their breasts growing larger through puberty. Sometimes the girls try to flaunt their new physical features to attract me, but I turn a blind eye on them and they call me prude as a result. They haven't a single idea, and it's better that way. I'd rather them think me prude than what they would say if they found my journal and the page after page I've written in it.

Sometimes I visit Kumatora at Osohe Castle – she went back to it after everything returned to normal on Nowhere Islands. It was her only home, after all, so such was only to be expected. We spend time together and sometimes we talk about how our lives are getting on – as it turns out, we've both been having a boring time with it all and, since our adventure, nothing major has changed. We drink together, even though Kumatora knows I'm underage – she's never been one to exactly follow the rules. It wouldn't be the first time I've gotten drunk or even high, either – though the latter wasn't exactly on purpose and I'd rather avoid having it happen a second time. Sometimes Kumatora and I kiss once we've gotten too drunk, and sometimes I'll touch her chest, but that's as far as it's ever gone. She doesn't fight it, so I guess she must like it, too.

I always wait until I sober up before I go home. Father isn't there often, but if he saw me stumbling around like a drunkard, I don't doubt for a moment he'd punish me worse than ever before. Even in my dulled state of mind, I know this well enough to stay put until I can walk a straight line again. And always before I take my leave, I kiss Kumatora one last time and she sees me off. We do this a lot, despite how Kumatora is similar to a big sister to me. She understands me well because we've both lost everything we cared for, and we've both fallen to despair in our own ways.

The other girls catch me visiting Kumatora sometimes, but they assume that she's too old for me. And she is. Despite our exchanged touches and near sexual contact, I don't actually have so much of an interest in Kumatora either. Still, she's easier to be around than the other girls – she's more masculine than not and doesn't bother me constantly about what's on my mind or gush when I tell her something sad. I always liked her for that reason, but past that and our general similarity of how we're both virtually orphans, there isn't a particularly deep connection. We're just friends.

When I go home, sometimes I write about her in my journal – though not usually. I fill the pages up with my fantasies just like always and sometimes I read over what I wrote previously. It's like a book of my own making – an autobiography of how horrible a human being I can be. Those girls that think I'm so innocent will never know.

Vivid fantasies of torturing and hurting each and every person who ever betrayed and hurt me in the past; ideas of ripping them open for every time they ripped open my heart as a kid, every time they laughed at my tears and every time they tried to pick at me for being sensitive. I get off from their misery, because when I imagine the things I want to do to them, I realize that they've gotten what they deserved. For every ounce of pain they gave me, I give it back with a stab to the gut and I rip out their bleeding hearts.

Page after page of desires fills this journal, and every person's name is written at least once. They'll never know what a sick individual I am, and its better that way.

I want them to keep believing I'm an innocent snowflake until I finally break and lose myself to those desires.


End file.
